heights(iv): practice room 9

“Taeyeon?” The auditorium door opened and closed. Lawrence rounded the corner to where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” She responded, knowing full and well that it was a lie. She felt strange, like part of her mind had been clouded over with a thick fog, disabling her from articulating any intelligible thoughts. After the lights had dimmed on Stephanie’s stage, Taeyeon had found herself rising from her seat and vacating the auditorium with a haste that she was unable to explain. “It was just getting too warm in there. Needed some air.”

He nodded but looked unconvinced still. “I thought you were gonna try and catch that Stephanie girl backstage?”

That had been the original plan, yes, but the more she thought about it the less appealing it sounded. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea if people see me hanging around the dressing rooms and stuff.” She shrugged. “It might spark rumors or whatever – you know what people in this company are like.”

Lawrence nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.” But still, the concern remained on his face. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’re in a daze.”

She definitely felt like she was in a daze too, but she shook her head. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

“If you say so.” And from the way his eyes flickered down to the floor, Taeyeon knew that he’d stop questioning her.

“I was thinking that it might be a better idea if you tell Stephanie to meet me in practice room 9, the one with the piano?” She suggested. A round of applause emitted from the auditorium, muffled but no less thunderous.

“Sure.” He replied. “If that’s what you think is best. Just make sure that you patch things up with her. Show her your nice side.”

“I don’t have a nice side.” She joked wryly.

“Maybe not a nice side, but you have your moments.” Lawrence nudged her and even from under her cap she could see the fondness he had for her. “Just keep in mind that you’ve been in her shoes before. You know what it’s like.” He continued, sliding his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “Sometimes all we need is a bit of understanding.”

* * *

Taeyeon stowed herself away into the studio. She still had at least an hour until the showcase was to finish. At least an hour until she’d have to go and meet Stephanie. Go and meet Stephanie and apologise for being such an .

She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t imagined it; meeting Stephanie for the second time. Ever since Lawrence had agreed to get her into the showcase, it’d been plaguing her mind. And she hated it. She didn’t want to care, because why should she? Stephanie was just a little trainee who had barely made her mark on the industry yet.

But as Taeyeon inhaled, leaning back into the leather of her swivel chair, she replayed Stephanie’s performance in her mind. Stephanie had sang her song, Taeyeon’s debut song, and she’d done it in a way that no one else had. Many artists had tried to imitate Taeyeon, replicate her voice, her expressions, her vocal prowess; and all of them had failed. Stephanie, however, had done the opposite. She didn’t take Taeyeon’s song and try to sing it like Taeyeon had – but rather, she had taken Taeyeon’s song, and taken it apart, sown a piece of herself into it, and put it back together again. Stephanie made the song her own. She’d sang it in a way that Taeyeon never could.

She was unsure if she should feel impressed or threatened. Because if Taeyeon was the benchmark for the industry, the highest standard there was, then wasn’t it likely that someone else could come along, prettier than her, more talented and more passionate than her, and raise that standard even higher. So high that even Taeyeon, who stood atop the highest pedestal, would never be able to reach it.

She shook her head and realised, with a throb of dread, that no, Stephanie hadn’t made her mark on the industry just yet, but she had most definitely made her mark on Taeyeon.

* * *

It had been several years since she’d stepped foot into practice room 9. It had been her favourite practice room as a trainee, and during her rookie days, purely because of the piano. Most practice rooms didn’t have pianos, or any instruments for that matter, especially back then, and if they did, it’d usually be a keyboard. And while Taeyeon didn’t mind keyboards, she was always more drawn to the grandiose nature of a good old piano; the way it’d stand so sturdy and sure at one corner of the room, large in size but quiet until you put your fingers to the keys to make it sing.

But that had been a long time ago. She couldn’t even really remember the last time she’d come to this side of the building, and she didn’t even know if practice room 9 still housed that old piano. As the industry had expanded worldwide, so had Apollo Entertainment; where there had once only been one building with a couple of floors for trainees and debuted idols alike, there were now three buildings, with several floors and several purposes held within each of them. Taeyeon no longer had a need to visit this old practice room anymore – not when there were so many newer, shinier ones closer by.

She walked down the corridor warily, and as she closed in on her destination, she confirmed that there was still indeed a piano in there. She could hear someone playing it softly, while humming a melodic tune. And she didn’t have to look to know who it was.

She stopped in front of the open doorway and looked inside. It was a conflicting feeling, because in one way she was wrought with nostalgia and memories of long hard days of practice during a time when everything had felt so new and exciting, but in another way she was overcome with caution, with a certain level of anxiety about the person she could see sitting upon the piano bench, where she, herself, had sat all those years ago.

Stephanie still had her stage make-up on, but was now dressed in a comfortable looking hoodie and jeans. Her l